Reverse POV With Kimberly Kane

I invited Kimberly Kane over, one of my favorite people, and the second she stepped inside the idea hit me. Reverse POV. She straps the camera to her chest so the lens sees exactly what she sees, looks straight down at the wet sounds she makes while I'm spread open beneath her. Every flick of her tongue is sharp. She sucks and teases like she wants proof that I can take it, thighs trembling against her shoulders. The shots hold tight on sweat and saliva, glossy lips stretched wide around her fingers, the quick flash of teeth when she bites, then smooths the skin with slow, sucking kisses. Heat climbs between us; she pins my wrists and grinds against me like she needs me to feel exactly how slick she's getting from the view. When she finally sinks two fingers deep, the image shakes for a half-second from the force of it. She laughs low, keeps going, never lets the camera drift. The whole thing plays out in one greedy, unbroken rhythm, nothing between us except the lens and the low, filthy sound of her enjoying the power of it.